


When She's Ready

by Axolotl7



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Episode s03e07, Episode s03e08, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Melinda May needs a Hug, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She doesn't cry. She's not ready to cry.<br/>He doesn't talk. She's not ready for him to talk.</em>
</p>
<p>A little Melinda May comfort ficlet 'cos I so want someone to just give her a hug!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The whole idea of Phil just leaving May to her self-imposed exile just doesn't work for me - he'd kick the down the drawbridge of that metaphorical castle she's walled herself up behind if he thought she needed it! So about came this little fic.</p>
<p>Potentially also fits in with canon - the scenes we're not shown.</p>
<p>As has been pointed out it could potentially be any of our other favourite characters (maybe Simmons sneaking in for a hug with Fitz? Or Bobbi/Hunter? Or Daisy with Lincoln/Mack? Or even Melinda with someone else?) Though it is obviously written with Melinda and Phil in mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When She's Ready

When She's Ready

She waits until it's late, beyond late really. 

She waits until she knows that the corridors will be cold and empty, devoid of the normal bustling traffic, of agents rushing about their business, going from A to B, getting in her way.

She waits until she knows he might be asleep.

.

The first night, she waited even longer.

The first night, she needed him to be asleep.

The first night, she had to override the door lock. 

.

The first night, she had to strain her eyes against the darkness as she entered his rooms to ensure that everything remained as before she left.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat, force on through her hesitance, override her concerns... she might not be welcome, he might have found someone else, she should deal with this alone... she...

 

His eyes are bright in the dark.

Bright.

Staring straight at her.

Wide awake despite the time. 

 

She stops in place. Hesitation. She’s not ready to deal with him awake.

Can't force herself forwards these last few steps but won't let herself retreat away.

Licks at suddenly dry lips.

Waits for him to say something, anything, because she simply can't find any words but contrarily hopes that he won't. She’s not ready to talk.

 

She hears the rustle of the bed sheets as he moves, can barely trace the outline of the duvet in the inky darkness as it's drawn back in invite.

She lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. Covers the soft carpet soundlessly, crawling up the bed until she's beside him, her cheek on his pillow, his scent in every breath. 

Instinctively reassuring.

 

His arms come up to wrap around her without hesitation, cradling her body, loosely enough that she can still escape.

She doesn't want to escape. Not now that she’s made it this far.

She lets her actions speak for her, snuggles in closer deliberately, her head beneath his chin, breathes in deeply of him. Just him.

His arms tighten around her back, holding her close, secure, protected, safe... the illusion of safety at least.

.

She doesn't cry. She's not ready to cry.

He doesn't talk. She's not ready for him to talk.

.

Come morning, she'll be gone. 

She'll be gone whilst the corridors remain cold and empty, before the agents of the day bustling about their daily struggles, before he wakes or whilst he feigns sleep. 

She's not ready to deal with the mornings.

.

He'll wonder if he imagined her visit, if she was only a dream of a hope that she turned to him in her nights of need. The smell of her hair on his pillow says other-wise, the warmth of her next to him lingering even after she's gone.

She wouldn't want him to follow after her.

She's not ready to talk.

But his door is unlocked the next evening when she tries it after it gets late and his eyes bright in the darkness don't make her hesitate and his arms come up tightly around her, holding her to him without even the suggestion that she might seek to escape.

.

By day she's apart, aloof, suffering. He forced to watch on, to perform as heartless to those who enquire. "She wouldn't want me to follow her." "She'll talk when she's ready." These and other meaningless platitudes fall from his lips as his heart shears in two at her hurting. She's not ready, not by day. 

But at night she'll go to him. 

When it gets late, she'll turn to him, she'll allow herself to seek out his comfort. She'll hold to him like a lifeline, hands fisted tightly against his chest. He'll wrap his arms around her, a solid shield against demons he's no hope of protecting her from.

They'll say nothing come morning.

.

 

She’s not ready.

 

Not yet.

 

.

 

He'll wait.

 

 

x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl for beta-ing & keeping me going!
> 
> Please do leave me a comment :)


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